Page 14

Bex

I couldn’t sleep.

The ground was too hard, the air too cold, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ezra’s face. The worry clung to me like a second skin, itching at my nerves, refusing to let go.

I glanced over at Thorne and Briar, both asleep, their breathing even and steady in the dark. I envied them. Carefully, quietly, I slipped out from under the thin blanket of our makeshift shelter. I didn’t go far. I wasn’t stupid, the Wilds might be calm now, but they could turn in an instant. Still, I needed space. Room to think. Room to breathe.

I switched off the camera strapped to my chest. Four hours a day. That was the rule, our one scrap of unsupervised time.

I wandered a few paces and found a fallen log. Perched on it, leaning back, I tipped my head toward the sky. It was clear tonight, dark and endless. No storm clouds, no heavy winds. Just a blanket of stars above us. Out here, with the trial paused and the cameras off, the Wilds didn’t feel like the threat they were. They felt… still.

A rustle behind me snapped me back to reality.

I shot to my feet, my heart pounding as I reached instinctively for the nearest object.

But it was Thorne.

He stepped into view with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Easy, love,” he said, the edges of a grin playing on his face. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your brooding.”

I let out a breath, my muscles unclenching. “I wasn’t brooding.”

He shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”

I sat back down, and after a beat, he dropped onto the log beside me. I heard the soft click of his own camera shutting off, and a peculiar hush settled over us. The kind you only got when nobody was watching.

“You doing okay?” he asked, softer now, his voice carrying none of his usual teasing edge.

I hesitated, then admitted, “I’m worried about Ezra.”

“Yeah.” Thorne raked a hand through his hair. “If I hadn’t found Briar when I did, I’d be losing my mind too.” He glanced sideways at me. “You really care about him.”

It wasn’t a question. Just a quiet observation.

“I do,” I said, the words heavier than I expected them to be.

He huffed a humorless laugh. “A confession without a camera rolling. Take that, Praxis,” he muttered. His grin returned for a flicker, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

I tensed a little. Even with the general distaste for Praxis in Canyon, I wasn’t used to people talking about them like that. Not so plainly.

“You’re… very vocal about your feelings,” I said carefully, meaning it both as a compliment and a warning .

Thorne shrugged, his gaze returning to the stars. “Well, my Ma always said if you don’t speak your truth, someone else’ll write it for you. And trust me, Praxis has one hell of a pen.”

There was a somber twinge in his voice then, a note I recognized. The kind you didn’t learn unless you’d lost something you weren’t ready to lose.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmured.

His head turned, surprise flashing in his eyes. “How did you?—”

“Grief recognizes grief,” I whispered. “And Briar mentioned you two didn’t have anyone waiting back home.”

The quiet stretched between us. Thorne took a long, steadying breath, then let it out like a man who’d been holding it for years.

“She’s been gone almost ten,” he admitted.

I swallowed. “Seven for me.”

He reached out, gripped my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. No theatrics. No smirk. Just warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Me too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant hum of the Wilds. His thumb brushed against mine, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like… if it wasn’t like this?” His gaze stayed on the stars. “If we didn’t have to fight for scraps, or bleed for a system that treats us like… this?”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what to say.

But Thorne wasn’t really asking. He was remembering. Or maybe imagining.

“Not sure we’re allowed to imagine that,” I replied.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling up at the sky .

“You said something once to me,” I said. “Something about the stars.”

He smiled at me, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I sure did,” he replied.

“What did you mean?” Ava had once said something similar, and I couldn’t help but be curious.

“Funny thing about stars,” he murmured. “You can’t see ‘em in the city anymore. Praxis burned out the sky with their towers of lights and their technology. But out here? They’re still shining.” He tilted his head, a faint, almost wistful smile playing at his lips. “Even all the glitter and gold can’t stop them.”

I thought it was just another one of his poetic turns of phrase, but something in his voice made me look at him a little longer.

“I should get some sleep,” I said quietly, not sure why my throat felt tight.

“Yeah,” Thorne agreed, but he didn’t move.

Neither did I.

“Goodnight, Thorne,” I murmured as I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands.

He didn’t look away from the sky. “Goodnight, Brexlyn,” he replied, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

I made my way back to the tent, the chill settling heavier around me now. I crawled inside, curling up on the cold ground, but sleep still refused to come. I waited… for what, I wasn’t sure. For his footsteps, maybe. For the familiar weight of him beside me. I told myself it was for warmth. Just that.

When he finally returned, I felt him settle down nearby, the faint shift of fabric and breath in the dark. I didn’t move, but I knew he knew I was awake.

A moment passed.

Then his hand brushed against mine. A tentative, lingering touch, skin meeting skin in a way that sent heat rushing through me despite the cold. Slowly, his fingers laced with mine, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate lines along the back of my hand.

We didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

For a few stolen minutes, it felt like the world outside the tent walls didn’t exist, no trials, no cameras, no Praxis. Just us and the stars.

Then, without a word, he lifted my hand to his lips. His mouth was warm against my skin, a ghost of a kiss. A promise, or a goodbye, or maybe just a little indulgence.

He let go.

The air shifted again.

I heard the soft click as his camera flicked back on. And a breath later, I turned mine on too.

Our brief, star-filled escape vanished and I felt Praxis’ eyes fall on us again.

Briar was gone when I woke up the next morning. Thorne lay curled in his blanket, softly snoring, his face peaceful. I slipped out from the edge of the campsite and stretched my legs, the early morning air cool against my skin.

Thorne’s words from last night circled in my head.

I should remember what Zaffir told me. Don’t believe a word they say. And maybe he was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have believed a thing that came from either of their mouths. But… I did. Or I wanted to. Maybe that was na?ve. Maybe it was stupid. Or maybe, I could just read them. They didn’t feel like liars. They felt real. I liked them.

And I think I trusted them .

“Morning,” Briar’s voice came from behind me.

I jolted, heart leaping into my throat.

“Shit, you scared me.”

She smiled, all slow amusement. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“You walk so quietly in the woods, it’s either really impressive or really terrifying. I haven’t decided which yet.”

She gave a small chuckle and held out her hand, palm open. Handing me a piece of fruit, deep red and round. Ripe. Juicy.

“Breakfast?” she offered.

I glanced at the fruit, then up at her. “Where’d you find this?”

She stepped over to a stump and dropped down onto it, pulling another one out from her pocket. I joined her.

I noticed then that the camera at her chest was off. I flicked mine off, too. I kind of liked being able to be alone with them. Even just for a little while.

“A lot of this area used to be rich with fruit trees,” she said, turning the fruit over in her hand. “Most of them died out, but there are a few still hanging on. If you know where to look.”

I stared down at the one in my palm, its skin dappled with gold. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held something this fresh. Have I ever? I didn’t even know what kind of fruit it was. Didn’t know how it would taste.

When I glanced up, Briar was watching me.

“You do that a lot,” I said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Watch me.”

Her lips twitched with a soft smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I just… I can’t imagine I’m that interesting to look at. ”

That made her laugh, quiet and under her breath, like I’d told a joke without meaning to.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

“How special you are.”

The words landed with a quiet thud in my chest. I looked at her, and she didn’t look away. My breath caught, and I didn’t know what to say. So I bit into the fruit instead.

The taste exploded on my tongue. Tart, sweet, fresh, so fresh it nearly hurt. A moan slipped out before I could stop it. Juice ran down my chin, sticky and sweet, and I turned my head, embarrassed. But when I looked back, Briar’s eyes were on me, hot and dark, like I was something to devour.

I licked the juice from my bottom lip slowly, instinct more than intention. Her gaze tracked the movement. I felt another drop slide down my chin and went to wipe it away, but she beat me to it, her fingers brushing gently across my skin. She caught the juice with her thumb, then raised it to her mouth.

And licked it off.

I stared, stunned and speechless, heat blooming in my chest.

I wanted to kiss her.

But I didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Shouldn’t.

I shook my head, trying to shove the thought away, the desire curling under my skin like fire.

“So,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be, “how’d you get so good at reading people?”

She shifted, gaze falling to the trees beyond.

“It’s not a fun story,” she warned .

“I don’t mind,” I replied.

“When we were kids,” she said, voice distant, “Thorne and I were almost taken.”

The breath caught in my throat. “Taken?”

“There was a man in our Collective. He was… well, he was stealing children. Killing them. Dumping their bodies in the woods.”

The air around us changed. Went still.

“He murdered ten kids in three months.”

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“Ma and Pa warned us. Said don’t trust anyone. Don’t walk home alone. Don’t stray from the path. All the usual stuff.”

I nodded. My stomach felt cold.

“There was this old man who lived just past the woods,” she went on. “We used to bring him small game, squirrels, rabbits. He’d give us coins. He was kind. Sweet. He’d smile at us. Told jokes. He remembered our birthdays.”

She paused. Swallowed hard.

“We were there every day that summer. Laughing, joking. And the whole time, he was out there, taking kids.”

I reached out, found her hand, and held it.

“He tried to take us one day,” she said, voice barely above a breath. “But he’d never taken two at once before. Might be why he waited so long to try. We never went alone. We fought. We got away. We ran.”

She didn’t look at me, just stared ahead, like she could still see the moment unfolding in front of her.

“He got caught. Sentenced to death.”

She was trembling.

I slid closer and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her in.

“I saw him every single day,” she whispered, breaking. “I smiled at him. Laughed at his dumb jokes. And I never saw it. I never saw it. Ten kids died. Because I never even looked close enough.”

“No,” I said, firmly. “Briar. You were a kid. That wasn’t your fault.”

She shook her head. “He fooled me. He fooled everyone.”

“You’re the one who got away. Who turned him in. You saved lives.”

She looked up at me, eyes wet. “That day, I swore I’d never be caught like that again. If there’s something to know about someone, I will find it. I will see it.”

I reached up and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears. To hell with what Zaffir said, I trusted Briar at this moment. I knew she was telling me the truth. I knew this was raw honesty. This was her story, and she felt comfortable enough to share it with me.

“Thank you for telling me,” I whispered.

She leaned into my touch just slightly. “Thank you for listening.”

A few hours later we were packed up and back on the trail. Briar had been modest when she mentioned that she and Thorne were comfortable in the woods. Watching them move through the trees, navigate the terrain, and hunt with the precision of seasoned experts, I almost felt like a useless third wheel. They moved like they were part of the wilderness, not just in it, and I was just trying to keep up.

“Not that way,” I called, as Thorne began to track down a hill to the northeast.

“Praxis is that way, love,” Thorne replied, his voice calm and unbothered, as though it was a simple correction.

“Yes, but at the base of this hill is a lake,” I said, pointing. “And we’re not going to be able to swim it.”

Both of them stopped, blinking at me in unison .

“Can you hear the water or something?” Briar asked, lifting an ear, trying to catch whatever it was I was hearing.

I shook my head. “No, I saw it.”

The two of them exchanged a puzzled glance.

“When I was falling from the plane,” I explained, shrugging like it was nothing.

“That was three days ago,” Briar said, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“And you were falling from a plane…” Thorne added, as if he was still processing it. “Are you sure?” he asked, genuinely shocked, but not accusatory.

“Yeah, I’m positive,” I replied, not bothering to explain the details of my fall. They didn’t need to know everything.